Sickness and the Scribe
by Venra
Summary: Thorin's illness spreads to the other members of the Company, leaving only Dwalin to take care of Ori. (Follow up to in Sickness and In Health, can be read alone).


"Buhhhhh…" Ori exhaled, a wet sickly sound emanating from somewhere deep in his chest. It was perhaps improper to blame one's King for their own illness, but everyone who had worked with Thorin Trewsday was now laid up in bed, unable to do a lick of good. Ori wasn't sure how sick the others were, but Dori seemed to have gotten the worst of it, being sequestered to the infirmary by Óin, who apparently never got sick despite working exclusively with sick patients now that there was less Orc raids going on. Nori was forbidden from coming home because apparently he was needed to hush up the fact that 2/3 of the Company were incapacitated lest some disreputable sort take advantage of them. (It always made Ori laugh that Nori was now the one who worked on this kind of stuff, Nori would have called what he did now "snitching" in the pre-Erebor days). Either way, it meant that Ori, being one of the least affected (he should be grateful, but he did not FEEL like he was the least sick), had to take care of himself.

He could have called for one of the nurses to come help, but he really didn't want to unless he got very bad. People outside of the Company tended to look at Ori as the "weak one" considering the Ballad of Bilbo Baggins has made everyone convinced that Bilbo is the bravest AND smallest (which he is, in a lot of ways). It just meant that the scribe automatically was viewed as weak or cowardly, just because his crafts were things that didn't require a lot of strength. He wasn't even the youngest! When the Troll King called for Ori and not Fíli and Kíli who were in fact younger, Ori didn't say anything because he would not throw another to his fate on a technicality. He could have, but he didn't! Isn't that brave, somewhat? Mister Dwalin said he was brave after they had gotten to a safe haven, and Mister Dwalin continues to risk his life for Erebor even when he could by all rights retire, so Ori thinks that if Mister Dwalin thinks him brave then there is something to it!

Plus, he couldn't possibly ask the nurses to do what actually makes him feel better, what Dori has down to a science whenever Ori gets sick. Ori didn't think that tucking him in and singing him songs were part of a nurses' typical duties and he would be too embarrassed to ask anyways.

"Maybe try to read a little, then…" Ori muttered miserably. He was comfortable enough in his bed, which was larger and more plush than anything he'd had pre-Erebor, and he was grateful that though he would have to weather this sickness alone, it was under much better circumstances than when they were poor. Grabbing his book from his bedside table, Ori continued reading until his eyes couldn't focus anymore and his lids began to drift slowly… slowly closed, his book falling gently from his loose grasp.

Dwalin quietly let himself into the Ri residence with a key given to him by Nori to check on his brother. Nori, who was in a panic because both of his brothers needed taking care of and only one was currently receiving any, had been rooming with Balin and Dwalin (who had always been resistant to contagions) and was working his arse off to make it appear as if all was well in the Company. Everyone knew the King was sick, locked up in his quarters hogging Bilbo until he got better, but they didn't need to know his heirs were at risk too. ("Fíli's doing alright, but Kíli keeps on whining for his Mum even though Dís is covering for Thorin.") Bifur was nursing Bombur and Bofur, who they knew was sick earlier than the rest when Bombur lost his appetite. Glóin and Óin were okay, but Glóin's son Gimli had caught the bug making Glóin practically useless as he fretted over his little one.

Hearing Ori was alone, Dwalin immediately (and as nonchalant as he could manage) volunteered to check up on the youngest Ri. Nori had been suspicious, but agreed after being convinced that Ori would never get better without someone there to make sure he was getting enough liquids and sleep.

The Ri brothers were an unlucky sort before they came on the quest. Each had a different father through no fault of their mother. Their Mother was a renown hair stylist, designing elegant braids and hair dos for some of the richest noble ladies in not only Erebor, but also the Iron Foothills and the Blue Mountains. But then her first husband died in a mining accident, and her second husband (Nori's father) had left when her hands succumbed to arthritis and she could no longer design braids. Her third husband was a good man, who married her despite her shrinking coffers, but he died fighting at Azanulbizar like so many others. Their mother died later when Ori was only 15, much too young to be without both parents and yet their story was almost typical for the exiled people. There was hardly any legitimate work in the Blue Mountains that could properly support a family, meaning that Nori decided quite early on to turn to crime. The thief's crimes were never petty, but he did steal from those with a enough influence that it meant that he would spend time in Dwalin's jail cells more often than not. Dwalin never met Ori during this time, Nori tried to keep his work and home life separate, and whenever Dwalin did have to visit his house, it was always Dori who answered the door.

Dwalin wondered if it would have changed anything, knowing Ori when he was just a child. He didn't think so, Dwarrow's one loves rarely took age, looks, or wealth into account. It was so often a spontaneous reaction that could happen years after knowing someone, or minutes. He wondered if Ori knew they were each other's Ones. Younger folk tended not to realize their Ones until after a lengthy courtship, in which Ori and Dwalin were in the very early and very secret part of, which was hard. Not being able to hold Ori's hand for fear of one of Nori's spies reporting back or being able to steal a quick kiss was frustrating, but Dwalin was committed to courting Ori the right way. They weren't Bilbo and Thorin, who'd jumped at each other the second any interest seemed reciprocated, Dwalin had waited so long for Ori, and he could wait a bit longer. Doing it properly also meant he'd have a better chance of winning over Dori's approval, the last thing Dwalin wanted to do was split a family that had already been through so much.

Pulling up a chair to Ori's bedside, Dwalin placed his hands on Ori's forehead and cheeks, frowning as he felt how hot the scribe's skin was. From his rucksack he took out a cold pitcher of orange juice and poured out a cup. He didn't know what the juice did, only that Balin said orange juice had good vitamins or something, which was excellent because Ori liked it anyways. Smiling as he noticed Ori had fallen asleep reading, Dwalin removed the book and set it aside, before moving towards the fire to stoke it. It was when Dwalin was adding another log on that he heard a horrible wrenching cough come from his scribe, and in a second he was by Ori's side, rubbing his back soothingly as the small dwarf hacked up phlegm and all other undelightful things.

"M-mister D-dwalin?" Ori questioned, holding his throat as the last of the coughing fit left him.  
"Aye lad, here, drink this." Holding the cup to Ori's mouth, he drank slowly until he spluttered, having another smaller cough attack.

"Oh, lad, your throat must be killing you," said Dwalin, who met Ori's eyes with a concerned frown. The scribe's cheeks were flush and his hands hung weakly on the bed, his gaze wasn't completely focused and face wasn't as animated as it usually was. Ori attempted to smile, croaking out a "ye-es" before clearing his throat and continuing again.

"It wasn't this bad earlier," he said quietly, not quite because of timidness but more because it probably hurt to speak any louder. "Not that I'm not grateful.. but why are you here?"

"Nori asked me."

"Nori!?" Ori exclaimed, his brows shooting up until he cringed as if the action hurt him. Must have a headache. and everyone's sick. Good reason he let me in, you don't look too good." Dwalin once again placed his hand on Ori's cheek, Ori sagged into it, enjoying he comparative coolness of Dwalin's hand.

"Aye, he was worried about ye

"You didn't have to."

"And what kind of suitor would I be if I let you suffer?" Dwalin chided with a smile, knowing that if Ori could he would blush more. They've been courting for months now, but they rarely had chances to acknowledge that that was what they were doing. To an outsider the time the two spent together could easily be rationalized as practical interactions, only the two courters knew exactly what it meant. That's how Dwarrow courting was in the beginning, and Dwalin wondered how long Thorin had tried to court Bilbo without the Hobbit's knowledge.

"But you could get sick!" Ori exclaimed, the rasp of his voice deepening it somewhat. At this Dwalin nodded, "I could, would you take care of me when I'm sick and you're immune, Ori?" The Scribe fidgeted and looked down at his bedding before giving two quick nods.

"Yes, even though it wouldn't.. wouldn't be proper at this stage." Dwalin shifted his hand from Ori's cheek and moved some of his hair behind his ear. It was longer now, and soon Ori would decide on an intricate braid style like his brothers', but he hasn't decided on what yet. Ori's shown Dwalin sketches of possible designs, each of them Dwalin though would look rather becoming on his scribe.

"I thought you wanted a little less propriety?" Dwalin chuckled and Ori scrunched up his face adorably at the guard. Ori had been very eager to speed up their courtship, but Dwalin wasn't sure. He wanted to do it properly, yes, but he also didn't know if Ori felt the same eternity about Dwalin and Dwalin did for Ori. Younger dwarrows took longer, and Thorin had heavily hinted that he would look disfavourably on anyone who tried to court his sistersons before they were at least 100 years of age. Dwalin wished he could ask, but you just didn't reveal if someone was your One until after a certain grace period. It helped prevent false realizations and so Dwalin would try to stick as close to the proper timeline as he could. That is, unless Ori convinced him otherwise. The young scribe could be very influential when he wanted to be.

"I do! Just not when my body is revolting against me," Ori sniffed harshly, attempting to remove the snot that had blocked his nose.

"I dunno, you're a bit cute like this," Dwalin grinned. The only reply Ori offered was pursed lips in the direction of his bedside table where a fleet of half-destroyed handkerchiefs resided. "Well, I like taking care of you, therefore I like being here. So that's that!" Ori sighed, his shoulders drooping as sunk into his bedding, energy to argue apparently diminished. Dwalin looked compassionately down at the young dwarf, feeling bad that he was keeping him awake.

"Alright, a few more things to drink, and back to bed with you." Ori scrunched up his face again.

"That serum tastes awful."

"But it works?" Dwalin questioned, not actually having been sick and with the aid of a doctor in many many years.

"That remains to be seen," Ori nonetheless swallowed the thick disgusting syrup, the willow bark tea, and then washed it down with more orange juice. By the end of the process Ori was hardly lucid, completely entombed in his blankets and facing Dwalin, the older dwarf ran a soothing hand down Ori's flank in a rhythm meant to lull the scribe to sleep.

"Dwalin?" Ori mumbled after Dwalin was sure the scribe had already lost consciousness.

"Yes?"

"Will you be here when I wake up?" Dwalin smiled and leant over to give Ori a kiss on his temple.

"I won't leave your side until you're completely better." Ori smiled and shuffled a bit, letting out a weak sneeze before settling down.

"I know you will." With that the scribe lost himself to fevered dreams, all the while imagining his long future with his suitor.


End file.
